


Tumblr Prompts

by ru17



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Daddy Kink, Dark Steve Rogers, Father/Son Incest, Human Trafficking, Kidnapping, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:53:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24764185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ru17/pseuds/ru17
Summary: A collection of prompts that I've filled on my tumblr.Additional tags to be added with each update.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 36
Kudos: 336





	1. Mob boss!Tony x Little!Peter

The compound crumbles in less than an hour.

For all his bravado, Justin Hammer goes down almost too easily. Tony feels tempted to whistle as he walks through the compound’s warehouse, stepping over the slain bodies of Hammer’s underpaid cronies.

His team is just finishing up the last of the  _ clean-up. _ The occasional gunshot echoes off the walls as Tony takes stock of all the merchandise he just inherited, debating what to do with Hammer once they get home. It almost feels like a waste of effort and time to torture the man before killing him, even with all the trouble he stirred up with the police. Tony’s tempted to just put a bullet in his brain and be done with it.

But, well. He isn’t called  _ The Merchant of Death _ for nothing, and he  _ does  _ have a certain image to maintain. Plus, with Hammer keeping him company tonight, he’ll at least be partially spared from the usual tedium that comes with being the biggest mafia don on the east coast.

It’s as he’s wondering just what exactly he should do to Hammer first that Happy finally arrives, looking a little disheveled, but no worse for wear. “Boss,” he says, stumbling over the array of corpses with a muted curse, “compound’s clear. We’re ready to pack this all up and move out.”

Tony wipes the toe of his shoe off on some unnamed man’s bullethole-patterned sleeve. “Good. And Hammer?”

“On his way back to base as we speak, sir. I’ll have him ready for you when you arrive.”

Tony nods in approval, then notices the pronounced, telltale crease in Happy’s brow. Always a good sign.

“Something else you wanna tell me, Hap?”

Happy grimaces, deepening his forehead wrinkle. “There was an unexpected...uh...hiccup, sir.”

Tony lifts an eyebrow at the other man, equal parts curious and incredulous. “A hiccup,” he repeats, slowly, watching Happy’s face grow increasingly sour. “What sort of hiccup?”

“The, um...the teenaged boy kind?”

\---

There are only two bodies littering the floor outside Hammer’s office: his enforcer, and his bodyguard. Happy starts clumsily rolling them out of the way, glaring at Bucky while he does.

Bucky smirks at Happy and pointedly doesn’t help clear away the bodies lying between them. “Kid hasn’t stopped crying since you took Hammer,” he says to him, standing in the doorway like a sentry.

“Probably in relief,” Tony says, straightening his tie as Happy finishes kicking over the second body. “Who is he? Do we know?”

“My guess is a trafficking vic,” Bucky says with a shrug. “He’s got bruises. Seems kinda...out of it.”

Tony hums. “Well, I suppose we’re about to find out.”

Bucky steps aside and Tony strolls into the room, sparing a disinterested glance at Hammer’s shameful choice of interior decorating. The throw pillows are haphazardly strewn across the floor from the sofa; one of the grommet drapes is missing from the window. It’s a mess, but that’s not entirely unexpected.

Happy follows close behind him as he makes his way to the corner of the room, where the soft sound of pitiful sobs is coming from underneath the large desk. Tony peeks his head beneath the desktop just enough to confirm the kid doesn’t have a loaded weapon before he crouches down.

The little thing is balled up tight, wrapped in the missing window drapery and clutching one of the stolen throw pillows like his life depends on it. He seems naked underneath it, which confirms Bucky’s human trafficking theory and gives Tony almost an instant headache. There are bruises spanning the boy’s wrists and ankles that look new and swollen, standing out brightly against the boy’s very pale skin.

Tony clears his throat. “As comfortable as that looks, perhaps I could convince you to stand up so we can chat face to face, hm?”

The kid flinches, whimpering into the pillow he has pressed over his face. Tony sighs like an overburdened parent and says, “I don’t have all day. You have till the count of three to come out on your own before I come in there and make you. You hear me? One.  _ Two… _ ”

The boy’s soft-looking head of curls slowly lifts, and the next thing Tony knows, he’s staring into the biggest pair of honey-brown eyes he’s ever seen. They’re red-rimmed and brimming with tears, swollen from how long the kid’s been crying, but they stay obediently and nervously fixed on Tony as the boy slowly uncurls his limbs and crawls out from under the desk.

Tony’s somewhat surprised that the boy clings to his pillow religiously enough to let the curtain slip down to his waist, held up by only a single tiny, shaking fist. The boy won’t spare either hand to hold the drape up properly so it pools around his hips, revealing his slim, narrow torso, his perfectly unblemished skin.

There aren’t any bruises, though more could be hiding under the curtain. Tony appraises the kid for a long, tense moment before he asks, “What’s your name?”

Thin arms squeeze the throw pillow tight enough to strangle it. The boy is still looking up at him with that damned pair of Disney eyes. He hasn’t stopped crying.

“‘m Peter,” he mumbles, sniffling.

His voice is cute. A little high for a kid his age, but in an endearing way. “Peter.” Tony nods, pleased. “I’m Tony. Tell me, Pete, how long have you been here?”

Peter glances at Happy, then at Bucky in the doorway, before shyly lowering his gaze to the pillow in his arms. He hugs it tighter and says, “Um...don’t...don’t know what day it is.”

“It’s Tuesday,” Happy says, sounding put out in that wonderful way he always does. “June 16th.”

The boy blinks, looking nervous and unsure as he says, “Since...two days.”

“Okay,” Tony says, “And where were you before that?”

Peter’s shoulders droop. He looks down at the floor with wet eyes, mumbling, “With bad guys.”

It takes everything Tony has not to smirk. “Bad guys? Worse than these ones?”

Peter nods. “They took me,” he says, his little voice completely heartbroken, “from Miss Jones’s place. They waited till she was asleep and they took me. S’been…” Confusion washes over his face, like he’s trying to access some memory that isn’t there. “It was winter. There was still snow outside.”

Before Tony can decide how to respond to that, Happy tactfully pipes up with, “Who the hell is Miss Jones?”

“ _Michelle Jones Adoption Center,_ ” Bucky says, reading aloud as he stares down at his phone. “Looks like a non-profit adoption agency. Website says the founder also runs a foster home. Is that the one?”

All three men turn to look at Peter, who nods, staring at Bucky hopefully. “Uh-huh. They sent me there when my aunt and uncle died.”

Part of Tony is scared to ask. “What happened to your parents?”

“They died when I was little.”

“Yikes,” Happy says quietly under his breath, though not quietly enough. Tony gives him a reproachful look, then turns back to the boy, whose face is once again soaked in tears, clinging to his throw pillow like it’s a teddy bear. 

Tony bites the bullet and says, “I hate to be the one to tell you this, kid, but now that you’ve seen our faces, I can’t let you go back to Miss Jones’ place.”

If the kid’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps staring down at his pillow, letting his tears drip down off his cheeks and soak into the fabric. “I just...I want…” His lower lip wobbles, and then the sobs come. “I don’t know. I don’t  _ know. _ ‘m so - so c-confused. I just want my D-Daddy.”

For the first time in longer than Tony can remember, he’s at a loss for words.

“Want Daddy,” Peter says again, babbling, like a child. The crying is really doing nothing for Tony’s budding headache. “‘m  _ scared. _ ”

“I’m praying this isn’t what it sounds like, but,  _ please _ tell me Justin Hammer wasn’t your Daddy. Ugh, Jesus, I’m never going to get the taste of those words out of my mouth.  _ Blech. _ ”

Thankfully, Peter shakes his head no, looking just as disgusted as Tony feels. Thank God. “I don’t...I don’t think so. I-I don’t  _ know. _ They said I had to be good for Daddy. They said I couldn’t go home unless it was with h-him.”

Bucky jokingly says, “I’ll be his Daddy,” but he mutes himself when Tony lifts a hand to silence him, before turning to give Happy a helpless look. The man stares back, then silently gestures to his gun, the question clear as day on his face. Tony immediately shakes his head, waving the man’s hand away from his holster with a steely glare.

Okay, so. That’s interesting. Apparently mercy-killing the boy isn’t an option. Giving him back to gentle-hearted, law-abiding-citizen Miss Jones isn’t an option, either.

So where does that leave him?

Tony watches the boy cry a moment longer before resignedly asking, “Peter, how old are you?”

Peter wipes his wet face on the pillow, refusing to let neither it nor the curtain go long enough to use his hands. “Don’t...know,” he says, after a moment, his brows furrowed like he’s thinking it over hard. “They s-said that was up to my Daddy.”

Stellar. Great big help, that is.

Sighing, Tony rubs his temple to soothe his headache, taking a moment to really  _ look _ at the boy in front of him. Peter is...well. It’s fair to say he isn’t unattractive. Hammer’s poor taste in interior design apparently doesn’t extend to sex slaves.

Tony’s done horrible, truly vile things in his career, but children are usually where he draws his thin, arguably nonexistent moral line. They’re rarely intelligent enough to interest him in any fashion, but Peter - for what it’s worth - has managed to pique his interest just enough that he finds himself actually opening his mouth and saying:

“Peter. Since I can’t let you go back to your foster home, tell me: would you rather come home with me instead?”

He lets the  _ ‘instead of killing you’ _ go unsaid, since the boy is already having trouble wiping away his tears. Peter stares up at him with a frightened, mistrustful look that makes Tony’s hands twitch. There’s innocence in those eyes, sure. But there’s brightness too. For all the babbling and childish baby-speak Peter’s given him, Tony gets the very distinct impression that he’s far from stupid.

“With you?” the boy asks, hardly louder than a whisper. His tone is soft and wary, sounding every bit the child he believes he is. “You...you’ll be my Daddy?”

It’s a strange thing, to be fifty years old and still learning such intimate things about himself, like how fucked up he is for liking it when this sweet, baby-faced teenage boy calls him  _ Daddy _ in his soft, childish little voice. Part of him can’t wait to turn around and see the looks on Happy and Bucky’s faces; the rest of him doesn’t want to take his eyes off Peter for even a moment.

He nods, giving Peter what he hopes is a reassuring smile as he steps forward, offering his hand for the boy to take. “That’s right, honey,” he says, his tone syrupy sweet. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Daddy’s here now.”

Peter looks between Tony’s outstretched hand and his smiling face, deliberating on what they both know is his only real option. Finally, he lets the curtain drop from around his hips to pool at his feet, revealing his slender legs and freshly-shaven pubic area. Tony’s brain momentarily goes white and fuzzy until Peter’s slim, soft hand hesitantly takes his own, still clutching that hideous throw pillow to his chest like a teddy bear.

Tony grants himself another long look over Peter’s gorgeous frame as he slips his suit jacket off and drapes it over the boy’s shoulders. Peter smiles gratefully and pushes his arms through the sleeves, his face darkening with a blush as Tony starts fastening the buttons. “Thank you, Daddy.”

_ Fuck. _ Forcing himself to swallow the growl building in his throat, Tony takes the boy’s hand again and leads him to the door. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you home.”

Peter clings to him as they step through the threshold, on their way to the rest of their lives.

_ Well, _ Tony thinks to himself, his hand tightening around Peter’s own,  _ at least things won’t be boring from now on. _


	2. Puppy 101

The first tip in his Puppy 101 book was, “Bring your puppy home on a quiet day.”

So Tony picked Peter up in the middle of the night.

He supposed fifteen didn’t really count as a “puppy,” but, looking at him, there was no way he could consider him anything else. The word fit the boy as soon as Tony laid eyes on him, when he saw Peter’s photo online and thought to himself, look at those puppy-dog eyes.

And the book came in handy, really - it offered some helpful tips Tony just couldn’t knock.

“Start crate training your puppy right away,” the book said. “You want your puppy to have somewhere they feel safe and comfortable being alone.”

Peter’s room wasn’t technically a crate, but it was small. It had a bed and water, but everything else, like food and bathroom breaks and playtime, Tony knew he’d have to provide himself. After all, those things would take training. And, if the book was to be believed, patience.

“It’s normal if your puppy cries for the first few days. They’re in a new place and missing their family. Be patient, but don’t give in to every single whine and cry, or else you’ll teach your puppy that being loud and disruptive gets them what they want.”

Tony expected the crying, even without the book telling him so. Peter cried when Tony smuggled him out of his apartment, cried when he restrained him in the backseat, cried when he brought him home and put him in his new room. He was patient, and soothing, just like the book said, and spoke to the boy in a soft, warm voice, as gentle and reassuring as he could be. “You’re all right, sweetheart. You’re okay. Daddy’s here, baby.”

Peter cried for longer than the first few days. He cried when he was left alone and when Tony spent time with him, cried when Tony had to scold him and when he was being a good boy and was rewarded. He was puppylike in so many ways, but to Tony’s dismay, the boy didn’t seem to enjoy petting or cuddling. Even treats, which Tony was sure to give whenever Peter earned them, were met with more fear and distrust than eager enthusiasm.

“Building trust with your puppy takes time. You must establish a routine so your puppy knows what to expect from you and when. The main source of the trust your puppy has for you comes from food - they trust you’re going to feed them, and by establishing a routine, you’ll build that trust with them even faster.”

He kept Peter in his room at night, but in the morning, the first thing he’d do was let the boy out and walk him down the hall to the little bathroom. There were no windows, and the door locked from the outside, so Tony left him in there for a few minutes to have some privacy as he went and prepared breakfast.

They ate every meal together, at the same time everyday. It took Peter a few days before he’d finish each meal Tony gave him, but the book had said, “They might not be used to the food you give them, but when they get hungry enough, they’ll eat,” and the same was true for Peter.

The gist of the book seemed to be: consistent routine, patience, exercise, diligence and positive reinforcement. Tony had no problem applying any of that to Peter. He made sure they kept the same routine every day - bathroom, breakfast, playtime, quiet time (Peter went back to his room, so Tony could get some work done), bathroom, playtime (usually involving treats, sometimes a light lunch), exercise, bath time (Peter, like most puppies, hated bath time), dinner, bathroom, quiet time, bed.

Tony was consistent, like the book said to be, and Peter caught on fairly quickly. He was a very nervous boy, and building his confidence in his new home certainly tested Tony’s patience - especially during his teething phase.

“Puppies need to teethe. If they bite you, yelp to let them know they’ve hurt you, and give them a toy they’re supposed to chew on until they learn what is and isn’t okay to put in their mouths. Never, ever strike your puppy.”

This was the only passage in the book Tony disagreed with enough to disobey. Peter may have been a puppy at heart, but he wasn’t quite as harmless as one, and he needed firmer discipline when he misbehaved.

But Tony wasn’t unfair about it. He laid out the rules clearly - no hitting, no kicking, no biting. No being destructive to the house. No unsupervised outside time. He knew Peter understood the rules, even though he hated them - and that’s why he needed discipline whenever a rule was broken.

Three swats per offense was the rule. Bath time was the worst time for rule violations, because Peter always got feisty whenever Tony had to pull his clothing off and usher him into the warm water.

His poor boy was so shy, so nervous, but that didn’t excuse the kicking and clawing he’d resort to whenever Tony had to bathe him. Tony didn’t enjoy wrestling the frantic, terrified boy over his lap and striking him until his ass was bright red, but consistent routines and diligence went both ways when it came to building trust - Peter needed to trust that if he broke a rule, he would be disciplined, exactly as Tony said he would.

Thankfully, Peter wasn’t only the cutest boy in the world, he was also the smartest. It only took a few months of hard work and dedication to get him settled into his new life, and that gave Tony hope that one day soon, Peter would know that Tony only wanted to love and take care of him, and then he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else except by Tony’s side.

For now, he contented himself with the meek resignation Peter seemed to default to. The boy didn’t fight him at bath time, didn’t try to destroy the doors and windows in the house, didn’t try to escape the yard when it was time to exercise, nothing. He wasn’t the happy, carefree puppy Tony had fallen in love with from afar, but things were getting better, little by little.

Peter still went tense and tried to pull away during quiet time, when Tony would lie down on the couch and cuddle the boy against his chest. It broke Tony’s heart, because he knew Peter used to be a very physically affectionate boy - there were more than enough pictures of him online, cuddled against his aunt and uncle, hugging his best friend, sleeping next to a girl on the bus with his head on her shoulder. Peter seemed to be touching every person he took a photo with, but he still tensed and shied away from Tony’s hands when the man reached for him.

But, like with everything else, Tony was patient, understanding, and diligent. “Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered, running his hands through Peter’s soft hair, coaxing him slowly into his arms. “You’re all right, baby, just c’mere.” Careful not to hug too hard, to keep his grip relaxed and comfortable, his hands loving. “Don’t be scared. Everything’s okay.”

Peter whimpered against his chest, his whole body still hard as a rock, but not pulling away. Not fighting. “Please. I wanna go home.”

Tony pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, delighting in how soft Peter’s skin was against his lips. His flawless, gorgeous boy. “You are home, sweetheart. You’re home now. Shh, darling. I’m gonna take such good care of you.”

He held the boy and rocked him as he cried. The book said four years until you had the perfect, calm, happy companion, provided you stuck to the rules and routines it outlined. Tony could work with that. Four years, and Peter would be the perfect good boy Tony had always wanted. Four years, and Peter wouldn’t tense in Tony’s arms, wouldn’t fight back, even as Tony gently stripped the clothing from his body and pressed him down on his bed, softly spreading his legs and then reaping the rewards of all his hard work.


	3. Dark Step Dad!Steve x Bio Dad!Tony x Underage!Peter (Incest)

Tony and Steve fall in love and get married, and Peter is the icing on the cake.

Steve didn’t start dating Tony _because_ of Peter or anything– he does genuinely love the man for who he is - but his innocent little doe-eyed son is absolutely a bonus. Steve is perfectly happy simply admiring his beautiful stepson from afar while cherishing his gorgeous little househusband, but then he can’t help but notice the way Tony starts looking at Peter.

And the way Peter starts looking at Tony back.

It’s too good to be true, really. And Steve sees no reason not to encourage his boys’ affections for each other. When they’re all sitting together watching movies on the couch, Steve will beckon Peter over to cuddle against his dad’s side, taking the leap they both wanted to but were too afraid.

When they’re saying goodbye to Peter as he leaves for school in the mornings, Steve will give his son a quick kiss goodbye and then casually nudge Tony to do the same, knowing neither of them will refuse it.

Every chance he gets whenever Peter bends over or is wearing something that’s caught Tony’s attention, Steve will subtly run his hands along his husband’s back just the way he likes, or rub his leg or hip to stir the arousal he knows Peter is causing.

Tony is horrified the first time Steve brings it up, but Steve’s balls deep inside of him and staving off his orgasm, and Tony _needs_ to come, so he can’t run away from it as Steve whispers in his ear while nailing his prostate, “What I wouldn’t give to watch you bend Peter over just like this, baby.”

That’s the hardest Steve has ever made Tony come, but afterwards, Tony makes him promise he will never, _ever_ mention it again. Steve does, but only to avoid a fight. He has no intention of stopping, but Tony doesn’t need to know that, yet.

Steve is very careful to encourage Tony’s feelings for Peter without the other man realizing what his endgame is. Slowly but surely, he breaks through Tony’s denial, until finally the man is able to admit that he wants his own son. Tony will only confess his sinful desires in the throes of ecstasy, usually moments away from coming, but it’s good enough for Steve, for now.

He doesn’t tell Tony about the way Peter looks at him back.

He always makes sure that the two of them are home alone before cajoling Tony into talking about his fantasies involving Peter - Tony’s always a lot more honest when he thinks there’s zero chance his son will overhear him - and even before this, Tony never seemed to think it was appropriate to engage in sex while their son was home, anyway. His sweet, misguided husband, always endeavoring to be the best father he can, even when all he wants to do is corrupt the poor boy.

It’s just such an afternoon when Steve finally plans to reap the fruits of his labor. He texts Peter and tells him to come home early from school, that he and his father have a surprise waiting for him when he does. Then he coaxes Tony into the bedroom, leaving the door open just a crack, and then slowly but expertly riles the man up, until he’s a desperate mess just begging to come.

He bends Tony over until his head is pillowed on his arms, resting on their bed, his face hidden, knowing the view through the door will be perfect. As planned, by the time he’s thrusting so hard that his hips are slamming against Tony’s, he sees a flash of movement from the corner of his eye, and knows Peter is standing there beyond the door, spying.

Steve turns and looks at Peter through the door, meeting his wide-eyed gaze. Before Peter can turn and run, Steve grins and winks, then grabs a fistful of Tony’s mussed hair, jerks his head back and demands, “Tell me what you want, sweetheart. Go on. What do you wish was happening right now?”

Tony’s voice is high and desperate. “I - ” he shudders, his legs trembling. “I- I wanna come.”

Steve watches Peter flinch when he brings his hand down _hard_ on Tony’s ass, making him cry out. “That’s for lying,” he says sternly, watching as a bright red handprint blooms on Tony’s cheek. ”I know you want to come, you needy little slut. _How_ do you want to come?”

Tony sobs, trying to shake his head, but failing thanks to Steve’s ironclad grip in his hair. “I want - want s-someone…sucking my cock.”

Another _slap_ echoes in the room, and the cry Tony makes is definitely one of pain, this time. “Say it. Tell me who it is you want sucking your cock right now,” Steve growls.

“My -” Tony sobs again, “-my son. I want-I want Peter to- to suck my cock, wanna feel his mouth on me… _ohh,_ fuck, Steve…!”

Steve turns and gives Peter an even wider grin, wicked and wolfish. Peter’s wide, wet eyes aren’t even looking at him - they’re zeroed in on his dad, still oblivious to the boy’s presence. “Did you hear that, baby boy?” Steve calls sweetly. Tony’s hips stutter and stop. “Come here, Peter. Come show your Daddy some love.”

Tony freezes, utterly still except for Steve still driving into him. Peter looks like a deer caught in the headlights, but he shyly opens the door, toeing into the room and following Steve’s hard gaze until he sinks to the floor between his dad’s knees and the bed.

Steve has to speak a little louder so Peter can hear him over the sound of Tony’s sobs.

“There’s my good boy.”


	4. Starker Rimming Oneshot

There’s a text waiting for Tony when he steps off the plane: _Come straight home. I’ll have dinner ready for you._

It brings a smile to his face. It’s an adorable, uncharacteristically domestic thing for Peter to text him. For starters, neither one of them can cook to save his life. But the fact that Peter is willing to try warms his heart.

He texts back, _Just landed, see you soon,_ which gets no reply. He figures Peter is elbows-deep in some recipe far above his skill level and sufficiently working himself up over the whole thing by now.

Poor thing. He truly can be quite the perfectionist, sometimes. Tony wouldn’t change a single thing about him, but he does wish Peter was more forgiving with himself now and then. The boy can come dangerously close to stepping on his territory. Tony’s the insecure, neurotic one with a fetish for beating himself up over every little thing in _this_ relationship, thank you very much.

It takes him an hour to get home through the dinner rush of Manhattan traffic. When he opens the door, he’s surprised - and only slightly, minutely worried - to see the lights off, the open living, dining room and kitchen empty. Everything is tinted orange from the setting sun streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of their penthouse, highlighting that Peter is nowhere to be seen. “Pete? You here?”

No reply. He tries not to worry about it as he glances through every door on his way to the master bedroom. He hopes Peter hasn’t depressed himself by failing to concoct something edible; he should know by now that if culinary skills mattered that much to Tony, he wouldn’t be dating him.

Oddly though, the penthouse doesn’t smell like the kitchen’s even been used since the morning Tony left for his trip, when he mixed himself his usual get-up-and-go smoothie. Maybe Peter did actually manage to make something, but it’s a cold dish, with next to no cooking required? That’s just about the happiest scenario Tony can envision as he pushes the bedroom door open - Peter, throwing some lettuce and tomatoes in a salad bowl and calling it a day. The mental image makes him grin.

The sight of his bed makes him trip.

Ass. That’s the first thing he sees. Beautiful, soft, firm and plump all at the same time. That perfect, heart-shaped little ass, he’d know it anywhere. It’s on display for him, propped up by a thick pillow shoved under Peter’s hips. His slender legs are parted enough to reveal the baby-pink pucker between his cheeks. It makes his mouth water.

Then he sees the note, resting innocently on the sheets between Peter’s legs:

_Dinner is served. ♥_

All the blood in Tony’s body nose-dives for his dick.

He steps around the bed and spies Peter’s sleeping face. The boy has both arms crossed beneath his head, pillowing it. His face is turned to the side, facing Tony, lips slightly parted as he breathes softly in his sleep, his delicate lashes fanning across his cheeks. His curls, still damp from the shower, fall across his forehead and frame his youthful face. It’s a deceptively angelic sight. It should be a crime for someone to look so innocent when they’re capable of this kind of debauchery.

Well. Tony’s never been one to waste a good meal.

Gently, he kneels on the bed and positions himself comfy-cozy between Peter’s parted thighs. The boy smells like apple-scented soap and flowery shampoo. Tony braces his upper body weight on his elbows, lying on his stomach, and delicately runs both hands up the backs of Peter’s thighs. The boy hardly stirs.

He leans in. His thumbs caress the soft curves of Peter’s cheeks, pressing in and testing their plumpness. He would date Peter purely for this ass alone. The fact that the boy is sweet and brilliant and kind and beautiful are simply bonuses. The icing on a very delicious slice of cake.

Speaking of delicious. Tony wets his lips with his tongue as he spreads Peter’s ass open wider, leaning in to slot his face right in the valley between his cheeks. Peter shifts at the coarse scrape of Tony’s facial hair against his skin, mumbling softly in his sleep, but doesn’t wake.

Tony kisses him. Long, languid and slow. Kisses him right on that perfect pink hole and lets his wet lips linger on the furled skin. He takes his time - it’s impolite to rush a home-cooked meal made with love, after all. He kisses Peter’s hole and kneads the swell of his ass with his hands until saliva is smearing across his chin, his cheeks. Only when Peter is dripping wet does he finally press the tip of his tongue to his rim.

Peter arches his back off the bed like a cat when Tony presses inside.

He wants to say good morning, or make some sleazy _bon appétit_ joke, but neither seem worth having to pull his mouth away from Peter’s delectable ass. Now that the boy’s awake, letting out a loud, confused groan that sounds distinctly like, “ _Hnnwuaah?”_ Tony throws caution to the wind and presses in as close as he can get, pillaging with his tongue. Peter’s hips instinctively jerk away, but Tony grabs him tightly, hands wrapping around the sharp juts of his hip bones, and rocks him back onto his tongue like a fleshlight.

“Haa - hh _aaah,_ ” Peter pants, squirming and bouncing his hips against the pillow beneath him, so adorably eager to ride Tony’s face. “Tony, Tony - ohh, fuck - ”

Smiling, Tony drags his tongue up the seam of Peter’s ass and back down, momentarily laving it over the underside of his balls, before licking back up to his hole and diving in. He pulls back, spits on the quivering, glistening rim, then fucks his tongue back inside. Peter moans wetly underneath him, his poor hole no longer pastel pink, but red, wet and puffy from the constant assault.

“Tony - ” he gasps, calves knocking against Tony’s shoulders as he bucks his hips, “Oh God, fuck, I’m gonna cum - ”

Invigorated, Tony buries his face hard between Peter’s cheeks and curls his tongue inside of him, lapping and pressing against his inner walls in all the little places he knows drive Peter crazy. Peter whines like he’s in pain when he cums, ass rocking desperately against Tony’s face as he arches his back, covering Tony’s expensive pillowcase in sticky ropes of hot, white jizz.

Tony keeps eating him out until Peter’s finished riding out his orgasm. When he pulls back, the poor boy has pinkish streaks on the skin of his cheeks where Tony’s beard has rubbed him raw. His hole convulses as it tries to find Tony’s tongue, ever hungry and seeking to be filled. Too bad it never got the memo that _Tony’s_ the one being fed here.

He kisses Peter’s left ass cheek, then the small of his back, then rolls him over so he can see that flushed, panting little face. Peter gives him a dopey, sex-happy smile and a dorky little wave, still trying to catch his breath. Tony smiles back, leans down and kisses his hip, then spies the streaks of cum coating Peter’s groin, abdomen and thighs.

“I take it this is dessert?” he asks, and cuts off Peter’s sleepy laugh by licking away a stripe of cum and making him moan.


	5. Mob boss!Tony x Payment!Peter 1

Tony hates the snivelling.

Some people in his profession like it. Relish it, even. It’s their favorite part of the job: lording their power over others, inspiring fear, reducing grown men to tears. They’re really only in it for the power trip.

He admits - the power trip is the best part. But the hysteric weeping that inevitably follows always grates on his nerves.

Especially when there’s more than one of them.

He bangs the foot of his cane hard against the floor, once, twice, to silence the couple sobbing on the living room rug in front of him. They quiet instantly, sobs stuck in their throats. The husband wraps his arms around his wife and stares up at Tony behind a tear-smudged pair of spectacles.

Around them, Tony’s crew makes quick work ransacking the place for anything of value. Petty theft isn’t Tony’s style, but this is about sending a message. People like Ben Parker need to know that if they can’t pay their debts, Tony will leave them destitute. It’s in the contract he signed and everything.

“You brought this on yourself, Benny,” Tony says. It’s cute that the man actually has the gall to glare at him. “You know I have a very strict collection policy.”

“Please,” Ben Parker says, clutching his wife closer to him. “I can get your money, I swear, I just need more time. You can take anything you want, just _please,_ please don’t harm my family.”

“ _Your family._ Christ, Benjamin, like I give a fuck about _your family._ I want the goddamn money you owe me. You have been a very, _very_ bad investment, and I don’t _make_ bad investments.” He butts the end of his cane underneath the man’s chin, straining his neck back to lift his face.

“So here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to take anything of value you have in this dingy little apartment. Then we’re going to sell. Whatever money we manage to make from that goes straight to me. If that doesn’t cover your debt - which it won’t, spoiler alert, you owe me a fuckton more money than that - the next step will be sending you and your wife to my factory down in Tijuana to help manufacture some of my product.” He lets his gaze slide to May, the man’s wife, before meeting Ben’s eyes again. “Well. _You_ will be, anyway.”

“Oh God,” Ben sobs. His head drops, then quickly shoots back up in alarm. “What about--”

May slaps her hand over her husband’s mouth, silencing him, wide, terrified eyes gluing to Tony’s face. Tony raises an eyebrow at her, watching as a mortified, sheepish look encompasses Ben’s face.

“There something else you two want to tell me?”

May shakes her head, her hand dropping from Ben’s mouth. Ben looks conflicted - the look of a man who knows he’s been caught in a lie, and can’t decide if fessing up or doubling down would be worse. It’s the look of someone who has something to hide. Tony’s first guess is a rainy day fund the couple has stashed away somewhere, something Ben feels he can bargain with, but that May would rather be trafficked to Mexico than live without. Something they’ve suffered and bled for. Something valuable and sentimental. He just doesn’t know _what._

He’s about to ask when Thor brings it to him on a silver platter.

There’s a scuffle outside the front door, banging and shouting that only lasts a minute before the door is being shoved open, revealing Thor’s massive body wrangling a young teenage boy. He’s got one hand tightly clamped over the kid’s face, the other restraining his wrists, letting him kick and buck wildly as he brings him inside.

“Kid came down the hall and tried to get inside,” Thor says, unfazed by the boy’s desperate scrambling. “I’m guessing he lives here.”

Tony turns back to May and Ben.

“He has nothing to do with this!” May says, urgent, fierce. “He’s an innocent, Mr. Stark, he’s no threat to you!”

Laughter surprises its way out of Tony’s throat. May Parker is leagues more delightful than her half-witted husband. “No _threat,_ ” Tony repeats, giggling. “Thanks for the tip, Mrs. Parker. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He turns to Thor, marginally impressed that the boy hasn’t yet ceased his struggles. “Let’s take a look at him. I want to see for myself whether or not this 110lbs middle schooler really is a _threat._ ”

Thor moves his hand, taking one of the boy’s wrists in his now-free hand and pulling both of the kid’s hands up beside his head in the classic surrender position. The boy stops struggling, freezing in Thor’s grip as he lifts his head and looks up at Tony.

Tony freezes in much the same way.

The kid is...there’s no other word for it. He’s beautiful. The word surprises Tony when it comes to mind. It’s not a word he’s ever associated with young boys, despite the countless number he’s had. Cute, sure. Definitely appealing. But _beautiful?_ This is the first time Tony’s ever had that thought.

Something Ben can bargain with that May can’t live without. Well, he admires May for at least _trying_ to keep this delicious little morsel from him.

“Hello,” he purrs, taking a step closer to the wide-eyed boy. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“P-Peter.”

“Peter.” Tony smiles, tasting the name on his tongue. It’s fitting. “Do you know what’s going on here?”

The boy looks at his parents, then back up to Tony, shaking his head.

“Well, you see, your mommy and daddy borrowed some money from me and now they have to pay it back. We’re just in the middle of discussing their options.”

He’s about to continue, but the kid bravely opens his mouth and says, “Th-they’re...they’re my aunt and uncle, sir.”

Tony frowns. “Coming by for an after-school visit?”

“No, sir...I live with them. I’m - my parents passed away.”

Well. That explains why Ben claimed he had no children when he first borrowed the money. Clever, but not clever enough. “How old are you, Peter?”

The boy hesitates. Something about the look on Tony’s face must be setting him on edge, so he smiles, an attempt to be reassuring. “Fourteen.”

Fourteen. Lovely.

“Hmm,” Tony says. He rakes his eyes over the boy’s pretty face, his lithe body, his ill-fitting, cheap clothes. Ben and May Parker’s hidden treasure. Tony’s mouth begins to water.

“Benjamin,” he says. “What four types of payment do I accept?”

The man’s forehead crinkles, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. He gives him that wide-eyed, confused puppy-dog look that Tony is frankly too impatient to enjoy right now. “Come now. It was clearly stated in your contract. Remind me what they are.”

Realization dawns on the man, Tony can tell, because his face goes lily-white pale like he’s about to puke. “Please,” he begs, tears welling in his eyes and spilling down his cheeks, “I’ll - _we’ll_ give you everything. Anything else you want, take it, it’s yours. But please, please not - ”

“ _Cash,_ ” Tony cuts him off, stalking forward to stand over the trembling couple. “Which you have none of. _Card,_ of which you have only one, and its max capacity was reached months ago. So I was going to go with _blood,_ as that seemed to be the last viable option available to you. But you were holding out on me, Benjamin. You had the fourth all along.”

Ben shrieks, “He didn’t do anything wrong - ”

“No,” Tony says, agreeing, “he didn’t. So rest assured, I’ll be gentle. Consider yourself lucky that when you’ve finished working off your debt to me, you’ll both still have your necks intact.”

“You can’t do this!”

He waves off May’s indignant shout and stalks closer to the boy quivering in Thor’s arms. He really is a sight. Tony never wants to take his eyes off him if he can help it. “I didn’t do this, Mrs. Parker,” he answers at last. “Your husband did. I want what I’m owed.” He trails his thumb down Peter’s wet cheek, reveling in his soft, unblemished skin. “And your husband owes me a _boy._ ”


	6. Mob boss!Tony x Payment!Peter 2

Peter, it turns out, is quite the clever little thing.

He’s curious in that youthful, endearing way that Tony appreciates. Even scared to death, his gaze wanders, his hands fidgeting with everything they can touch. He’s an anxious boy, Tony thinks, or maybe a touch ADHD. He hasn’t stopped squirming since Pepper brought him to Tony nearly half an hour ago.

Freshly bathed, scrubbed squeaky clean and dressed in a thin, ill-fitting silk robe, Peter is a vision of loveliness. Tony knew he would clean up beautifully the moment he laid eyes on him. The robe Pepper draped him in hangs nearly down to his ankles; fourteen is younger than Tony’s had in years, and his usual profits aren’t typically as short as Peter is. As much as Tony hates the baggy-clothed peasant look, he must admit that Peter is sinfully alluring with his white dress robe hanging dangerously low off one shoulder.

Not that Tony is staring outright, of course. Not at first. He prefers to let his catch dangle on its hook before he lands it. The longer it waits in the in-between, in that sweet middle ground between freedom and death, the less of a struggle it puts up when it’s finally flung aboard. Tony’s learned, after nearly forty years of running this empire, that the best way to break a spirit is to feed it hope and despair in equal, excruciating measure.

“Are you a studious boy, Peter?” he asks, not turning around as he pours himself a glass of scotch. The ice cubes clink together at the bottom of the glass, making the poor boy nearly flinch out of his skin. “Do you enjoy school?”

“Y-yes,” Peter says, hands wrung together like he’s trying to keep control of them. His eyes dance over the various pieces of tech Tony has lining the walls and almost every surface of his office. The boy looks pitifully, adorably small sitting in the dead center of Tony’s lounge. “I’m - I go to Midtown Tech? I’ve always liked STEM classes, but, um. Chemistry’s my favorite.”

“Engineering was mine,” Tony replies casually as he strolls over, taking a seat on the opposite lounge. Peter ducks his head, refusing to meet his gaze. “Though, to be fair, I enjoyed all my hands-on classes.”

“Engineering is fun too,” Peter offers, meek, shy.

Tony smiles.

“Do you have plans for college? Grad school? Chemistry maybe isn’t quite as diverse or lucrative as engineering, but there’s still a great deal of options you could pursue.”

The hope brightens Peter’s gorgeous face. Tony takes another sip of his scotch to hide his smirk. “I’ve been thinking a lot about biochemistry, actually,” Peter says, squirming in his seat. “I, um, I think medicine would be...would be fulfilling and all - all that stuff. But I, um. I also really like photography. I’ve - I’ve occasionally considered journalism, from time to time.”

“Hmmm.” Tony says, drawing out the sound. The displeasure in his voice makes Peter go very still. “No, sweet boy, I don’t think that would do at all. Journalists and I don’t... _ get along,  _ you see. They’re terribly nosy, the whole lot of them. You don’t strike me as quite so impolite. Or have I misjudged you? Are you nosy and impolite, Peter?”

The boy’s face has gone very pale. His wide-eyed gaze  _ almost  _ meets Tony’s, but not quite. “I…” he stammers, searching for the right answer, but he’s young and afraid. Tony is inexplicably charmed when the little welp chirps, “I just think...I think I need to do something that helps people. Medicine or - or pursuing the truth, helping to keep people informed, that - those are good things, even if sometimes people do them for the wrong reasons. I’m lucky enough that I was born  _ ‘smart,’ _ that things like math and science come easy to me. If I...if I don’t use them to help make things better for other people, then it’s like...what was the point?”

“Oh, but Peter, dear boy: you  _ are _ making things better for other people.”

Confusion curls the boy’s sweet face into an adorable little frown. “What?”

“Your aunt and uncle, for instance.” He watches Peter tense as he takes another long, slow sip of his scotch. “Just by being here, spending time with me, you’re helping them avoid my wrath. You didn’t need college or a fancy camera to do that.”

“Mr. Stark, not...not to be rude, but...you didn’t exactly give me a choice.”

“No,” Tony agrees. He sets his empty glass on the little table beside his armrest. “Nor will I. Whether you believe it or not, your uncle knew what he was bargaining with when he borrowed money from me. To his credit, he  _ did _ try to keep your existence a secret. But I didn’t get to be in the position I’m in by being easily fooled.”

Peter’s hands are nearly whiter than his robe as he clasps them tightly together in his lap. He lifts his gaze to about the height of Tony’s chin and says, after a long moment of silence, “Mr. Stark...are you going to kill me?”

Tony reclines against the back of the lounge, twirling the handle of his cane in his left hand. “That, my dear boy, is entirely up to you.”

The soft, timid sound of Peter’s voice shouldn’t be as captivating as it is. “What...what do I have to do?”

Smiling, Tony lays his cane to rest beside him on the lounge, and sags his legs wide apart. “To start,” he says cheerfully, giving the boy a coy smile, “you can come sit on my lap.”


	7. Mob boss!Tony x Son!Peter

“You’ve grown.”

The boy sinks lower in his chair, attempting to hide behind the other side of the table. He still hasn’t looked Tony in the eyes once since he picked him up from the Parkers’. It goes beyond Peter’s regular shyness - the boy is fidgety, morose. A typical teenager, maybe. Except that he’s not.

When Tony gives him an impatient look, Peter meekly shrugs, responding without responding. He’s always been a very quiet boy, but the silent treatment is especially irritating. Tony takes a sip of his wine in an attempt to crush the feeling. Their visit’s only just begun. It’s too early to fight.

When the waiter comes to refill his glass, Tony says, “And one for him, too.” Peter looks up, shocked, adorably concerned, but the waiter doesn’t bat an eye as he fills the empty wine glass beside his iced tea. This isn’t the first time Tony’s brought his son here. Even if it had been, everyone knows they’d lose a lot more than Tony’s business if they dared refuse his request.

Peter stares at the glass once the waiter leaves. Tony smiles at him as he sips his own, but the boy’s gaze is fixated. “Drink up,” he orders softly, watching the worry deepen on Peter’s handsome face. He doesn’t move. “ _ Drink it, _ Peter.”

The boy’s hands shake as he lifts the heavy glass to his lips. Everything about it reminds Tony how young his son is - the way his face scrunches up at the taste, the way he carefully lifts the glass by the bowl with both hands, not trusting himself to use the stem. The way his hands look terribly, unbelievably small, his fingers short and thin as they wrap around the wide bowl beneath the rim. He truly is just a little slip of a thing. Bigger than last month, sure, he’s at that age. But only just starting the long ascent into adulthood.

It’s only been a month since they last saw each other, but already, Peter’s hand-me-down clothes are fitting just a little better than they were before, not as loose and baggy around the ankles, not hanging as low down his thighs. The Parkers tried to dress him up, as they always do, but they seem to have some aversion to using Tony’s money to buy his son nice things. The button-up shirt and dress slacks they wrapped him in are clearly Ben’s, trimmed and hemmed amateurishly to fit tighter on Peter’s skinny body. Any charm the look has is only attributed to the fact that it’s Peter wearing it.

“Apparently I need to take you shopping,” Tony muses, mostly to himself. “Drink, Peter. We’ll have a different wine when dinner is served.”

Peter takes a long, deep breath through his nose and lifts the glass to his lips again, then steels himself and gulps the rest of the burgundy liquid down. Tony chuckles, pointedly not mentioning that the alcohol is going to hit him much faster now, and lets the boy go back to sulking, tense and silent, in his chair.

—

After dinner, Tony loads a wobbly, light-headed Peter into his car and drives him to the Hall of Science. Peter is a little more animated as they walk around and take everything in, but Tony suspects that’s mostly the alcohol’s doing. The boy still hasn’t said much and he shies away when Tony wraps an arm around his shoulders, flinching at the contact. Tony buys him a little souvenir at the giftshop and ruffles Peter’s hair when the boy mumbles a quiet thank you.

They don’t say a word on the drive to the hotel. Peter’s never once asked why Tony doesn’t bring him to the penthouse during their visits, and Tony’s in no hurry to tell him. If the Parkers have told his son what he truly does for a living, behind the scenes, Peter’s never acted differently for it. He’s still the same sullen little boy he’s always been.

The room Tony rented is a bright and vast penthouse suite that costs more money per night than the Parkers pay for their monthly mortgage. The California King bed stands in the middle of the main room like a centerpiece, drawing your gaze to it as soon as you walk through the door. Tony suspects that’s not the reason Peter hasn’t taken his wide eyes off it. He stays huddled in the foyer, fidgeting with the toy Tony bought him at NYSCI, looking terribly lost.

Tony pours himself a glass of scotch at the bar and pulls his tie free from his neck. “Come here, Peter,” he calls gently, watching the boy teeter and debate whether or not he should obey. In the end, he knows there’s nowhere else to go. He keeps his head down as he shuffles his feet forward into the room, like he’s dragging himself towards his father.

Tony sips his drink and looks the boy over. He’s growing up. Every month he gets more beautiful, his features filling out to define his gentle face. If he resembles anyone in their family, it’s Tony’s own mother, with that soft head of hair and big, dark bambi eyes.

He cups the boy’s chin, thumbing over his bottom lip. Peter’s eyes are already glazing over with tears. It makes Tony’s skin itch, all the little hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Peter has always been so receptive to him. Always reacting. Feeling. Submitting.

He takes the back of the boy’s head to hold him still, grip tightening ever so slightly as he leans down and kisses him.

—

Harsh, labored breaths ghost over the pillows Peter’s face is buried in. Tony trails kisses over his shoulder blades, hips still gently rocking as he rides out his orgasm. Peter’s knuckles are bone-white as they clutch the sheets, strangling the soft material for all he’s worth.

Tony pants against his son’s back. The silky clutch around his softening cock is absolutely divine; warm and dripping wet where they’re still sealed together. Peter’s back trembles as he struggles to hold in his hiccuping sobs, making his tight skin dance across Tony’s lips.

“My good boy,” Tony sighs happily against Peter’s glistening skin. He kisses him again and grinds his hips against Peter’s ass, grinning when the boy whines and shivers. “Did you get off, honey? Did you come for Daddy?”

Peter gives him a stiff, curt nod, but when Tony wedges a hand beneath his hips to his pelvis, he finds his cock still hard, the tip leaking. He clicks his tongue in disapproval and wraps his hand around the boy’s shaft. “Peter. Why are you lying to me? It’s obvious you didn’t come.”

“I don’t want to,” Peter slurs into his pillow, pleading. “I just wanna go to sleep now, Dad, please.”

“That would be rude,” Tony scolds, pulling back so he can roll the boy over. Peter is quick to bury his face in his arms, trying to hide his tears, as if it’s the first time he’s ever cried during sex, and not the norm. “Let Daddy make you feel good.”

The whimper that leaves Peter’s pink little mouth when Tony swallows him down is gorgeous. He encourages Peter’s hips to rock upwards, rutting against his face, until the broken sobs turn to pleasure-filled groans. Tony trails his lips up to the head of Peter’s pretty little cock and back down, sucking hard, smiling when Peter’s hips stutter, his orgasm fast approaching.

He pulls back in time to let the boy finish all over his cute little belly. Peter’s labored breaths return to quiet sobs, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip hard enough to pierce the skin. “Don’t do that,” Tony says, pulling Peter’s lip from his teeth with the pad of his thumb. “You’ll leave a mark, Pete.”

Peter drops his arms from his face. His eyes stay glassy with tears and glued to the ceiling as Tony wipes the come from their bodies with Ben’s old dress shirt.

“I’m going to give you a little extra this month,” Tony says as he tosses the filthy shirt away. “I want you to use it to buy something nice to wear for next time. Don’t let May talk you into buying something big enough to grow into - I’m going to give you extra for a tailor, too. I want you to see one before I pick you up next month. Got it?”

Peter says nothing, his gaze still stuck to the ceiling. The goddamn silent treatment. Tony snaps his fingers in front of the boy’s face and says, “ _ Pe-ter. _ I’m talking to you. Did you hear what I just said?”

A shiver wracks the boy’s body. He turns his wet-eyed gaze back to Tony’s face and nods, sullenly.

“Good. And you’re going to be a good boy and do as Daddy says?”

There’s a beat of hesitation. Then another nod, Peter’s lips parting so he can softly mutter, “Yes, Daddy,” before closing his eyes and turning away.

**Author's Note:**

> Check me out on [tumblr.](https://send-me-your-hcs.tumblr.com/)


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